Beyond Your Never Again
by Teddy Pandamonium
Summary: After the failure of the Red Eye assignment, Jackson is given a second chance at redemption by his company. The Keefe mission has been given to a competitor organization, and Jackson has been chosen to retrieve the contract. Best part about all this excitement is that he gets to enlist a certain Reisert for help. Rated for language, violence, and adult content.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I don't own Red Eye. If I did there'd definitely be a sequel…even if I had to bind and gag the managers of both Rachel and Cillian to accomplish it. But no. I don't own Red Eye, Rachel McAdams, or (and most unfortunately of all) Cillian Murphy.**

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A/N: Enjoy. :)

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**Prologue**

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_Damn._

The room hadn't changed much since the last meeting. The second layer of steel dividers had been rolled down behind the bulletproof, floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking all sources of light coming in from the outside world. Soft blue light from the architecturally planned built-in light fixtures on the walls and pillars glowed eerily and bounced off the white marble floor. It was enough to see the dimly lit faces of the panel sitting before him, but not enough to discern detail. And it mildly irked him. If there was one thing he's good at, it was attention to detail. But that wasn't the concern today, so he brushed it to the back of his mind.

The panel had been silent as they observed him. They sat behind a raised desk similar to those in a courtroom. And that's exactly what this was; he was being judged. Neither party had spoken since he was ushered into the room. The men of the panel were silent. Silent, but angry. Oh, were they angry. How could they not be? His last mission was a theatrical, media-prone, _royally fucked_ _mess. _Not only had he compromised his identity, but his organization's prestige, foundation, and name as well. Oh, yeah…they were _pissed._

There was no getting out of this one. Even if he had used the best of his literary eloquence and his most charismatic persona, there was just no way of running around the heavy issue of his greatest failure. Besides…he was never one to run away. From anything. So he stood there in acquiesced silence, waiting for their judgment.

"Do you understand the repercussions of your failure, Agent LT?"

Icy blue eyes shifted slightly to the right, regarding the voice that had spoken. There were five men seated on that bench. It was built in a way that four of them sat so they were at eye-level with him. Only the middle seat was raised, reserved for the ultimate judge. But the man who questioned him sat at the far right end.

He simply nodded.

"Your bad judgment has led to not only the downfall of this contract, but also to the disgrace of our organization. The consequences are staggering!"

Another voice spoke up in agreement, this time to his left, where he easily shifted his gaze. "You should be thoroughly punished for this!"

It broke the gloom of the earlier silence, and suddenly, the room was filled with angry voices, outrages, and promises of death or excommunication. The icy-eyed agent just stood there silently, giving nothing away.

"ENOUGH," a deep, cool voice reverberated throughout the room. The calm command was more lethal and chilling than any angry shout could've sounded. All eyes turned toward the man seated in the middle chair. "We have more important points to discuss about the matter. What's done is done. Quit crying about spilt milk," he turned his focus from his executives to the agent in question. "Now, if we can get back to business, Agent LT. The Russians have dropped their contract with us and it has cost us millions. In these unfortunate turn of events, they have taken their money AND their contract to Crimson Op."

The panel awaited a response from their top agent. Stark realization finally dawned on him, the gravity of the situation almost tightening his chest. But after a beat, the spark that crossed his eyes faded just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by indifference.

When they figured their agent wasn't about to respond, the leader had spoken again, "Everything we feared about this mission is becoming reality. We had accepted the contract without preemptive because we knew it couldn't fall into the wrong hands. Crimson Op is our greatest competitor, not because of the money, but because of their work, as you already know. We wanted Keefe assassinated to install someone else into his position. But if Crimson executes this contract, they will purge the entire Homeland Security operation. This will hurt us. Big time. We need to get that contract back, and Crimson…needs to be stopped."

For the first time since his release from their organization hospital, Jackson finally spoke up. "And you want me to be the one to stop them." It was more a statement than a question. "After what happened to my last assignment?"

"Which is why you will be sure to succeed this time. We already have a senior assassin ready to take action in the event that you are unsuccessful."

"So why not just send him?" Jackson countered.

The boss did not raise his voice, but it grew in intensity. "Because it is the only chance you have to redeem yourself. Fail, and I'll have no choice but to execute strict disciplinary action," the leader said with solemn finality.

Jackson forced himself to remain impassive. He was not a man of many emotions, but of the few he carried, anger was certainly one of them. And at this moment, it was the most prominent emotion he felt. He was absolutely _livid…_and perhaps, although he didn't want to admit, he was somewhat humiliated. To have to "redeem himself". HA. What a bunch of bull. He wasn't so sure who he was more mad at - the panel, the situation, or himself. But there was one thing he was certain infuriated him more than anything else: _HER._

"What say you, Agent LT? It's either you take on the assignment, or deal with the consequences now."

His blue gaze lazily accessed each man across the panel. "So, if I fail, I die. If I refuse, I also die. The only chance I have is to accept. Some ultimatum. It's a no brainer there," he mocked.

"How DARE you - !" one of the men on the left side screeched as pounded a fist on the table and abruptly stood up.

Jackson regarded him with practiced boredom.

Their leader held up a hand. "Leave."

The four executives turned up to their boss. "B…but sir…?"

"I must speak to Mr. Rippner alone." The lack of policy name spoke volumes to the rest of the panel, letting them know just how serious their boss was. In a huff, and then silence, the executives filed out the meeting room and the door shut with the softest click, leaving Jackson alone with the head of their organization.

"Finally," Jackson exaggerated and loosened the tie that was beginning to irritate his still-raw scar on his throat.

His boss merely sighed heavily and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve the pressure there, feeling a strong headache come on. "Jackson, it's not the time to act foolhardy and stupid. Just because I run this company doesn't mean I can save your ass every time you fuck up."

Jackson strode over to the panel bench. "But how many times have I 'fucked up', Nick?" he rasped, his voice still slightly strained from his injury. "One mission…ONE mission and they think I lost a step? Who the hell do they think they're dealing with?!"

Nicolai Savage was not one to be contested with. Yet Jackson challenged him every step of the way. Slowly, he got up from his seat at the bench and made his way down to the long, oval-shaped rose-wood conference table behind Jackson. "Sorry to burst your narcissistic bubble, but you did lose a step, kid," Nicolai responded without missing a beat. He walked over to the nearest seat, his back turned to Jackson. "To a girl, nonetheless." His tired tone took on a bit of humor as Jackson stomped over to the chair on his right.

Reaching the table, Jackson kicked the chair out of his way.

"Hey. Don't make me shoot you," Nicolai absently scolded as he calmly shifted through the file he was holding. Jackson was fuming beside him, obviously affected about that "_to a girl_" comment. "Enough, Jackson," was all Nicolai said before the furious manager calmed, picked up the seat he kicked, and sat down haughtily. "This is no time to fool around. Every second Crimson Op has working on this contract is a second closer to our destruction. All the details are in this paperwork. There's a profile waiting for you in your room as well. And…I think you'd be ecstatic to know that this mission will require the little 'heroine' from the Keefe assignment." Nicolai handed Jackson the file.

Jackson looked up in an instant, surprise apparent in his eyes. His gaze darted back to the papers he held in his hand, tensely flipping through the first few pages. Anger boiled in his veins. The muscle in his jaw twitched violently before an idea hit him and the anger on his face was replaced with a malicious smile. The clockwork in his head was spinning at such a dangerous pace, he hadn't realized Nicolai had been talking for the past half minute. Jackson could've punched himself for getting so distracted. He looked at her picture. _I blame you…_

"-there's no margin of error this time around. Don't mess up. I can't keep saving you, kid."

Jackson indignantly scoffed. "No offense, boss, but I don't need you to save me."

Nicolai leaned back on his seat. "Maybe not anymore. But there was a time."

Blue orbs flashed dangerously as Jackson glared at his superior. A moment passed, and his indifferent façade came back up to reside on his face, erasing all expression that was there just a second ago. Without a word, he stood up and turned to leave the office.

As soon as Jackson closed the door, Nicolai let a small, amused smile touch the corner of his mouth. "Good luck, kid."

….

As soon as he had reached his room, Jackson went through both files laid out for him. Paying tedious attention to detail, he noted that Nicolai hadn't been lying; he really will involve the bane of his existence. _Miss Lisa Reisert._

Oh, how just looking at that name makes his blood boil. The muscle in his jaw worked overtime as he clenched his teeth with bone-crushing force. He could feel the adrenaline swell in his chest as he looked at her headshot next to her name. Jackson could taste the poison in his mouth.

He remembered the long days and the even longer nights in the organization hospital. He had woken up in a massive amount of pain, screaming and jolting upright and injuring a few of the orderlies instructed to attend to him. When he had settled and collected his wits, the head doctor debriefed him of where he was and what his situation looked like.

Apparently, the organization had intercepted Lisa's call to authorities about Jackson being in her house and had sent a crew out to do some damage control. They had arrived just before the police were able to find his bleeding body in the hallway of the Reisert residence. Scooping up their manager and the dead hitman took a matter of seconds before they headed straight back to headquarters. Jackson had then been comatose for several weeks. A little over two months, to be precise.

They were able to save his vocal chords and repair his trachea, but a small scar tissue would inevitability turn his voice into a harsh rasp if he overused it. The injury in his leg from Lisa's heel took them some time to close up, but they were able to sew the muscle there back together and with a little bit of exercise, Jackson would be able to get it back up to top shape. It was the bullet wounds that gave them a headache. The bullet Lisa had fired missed his ribs, but it had lodged itself deep enough to cause a little bit of internal bleeding and inflamed a few respiratory and digestive organ tissue linings. But the most complicated injury they had to deal with was the bullet he took to the chest. It was so close to his heart, the doctors almost gave up hope that he'd make it. But, ever the fighter, Jackson pulled through. It was still a meticulous operation, but as long as Jackson held on, they were able to save him.

But Jackson was _PISSED._ How she managed to injure him to the point of hospitalization was absolutely demoralizing. Every waking moment was dedicated to the plotting of Lisa Reisert's destruction. He had played numerous scenarios of their meeting again over and over in his mind, planned every detail meticulously that sometimes, his nose would bleed from the extreme concentration. He could NOT wait. The scenarios in his head nearly drove him to the brink of insanity, but it expedited his healing as he willed his body to get its act together more and more everyday. The doctors were awed at his progress. Of all the assassins they've treated, no one healed like Jackson Rippner, and they commended him. They gave him clearance to their rehabilitation rooms and when he wasn't recuperating or resting, he was working out in there everyday, getting stronger and faster as he strived toward lethal perfection with the picture of Lisa in his mind's eye.

He had to debrief them about all his injuries as soon as he could though, and he explained each one sufficiently…until they got up to the one on his throat. Jackson refused to say anything at all. It wasn't until Nicolai threatened him to gunpoint that he relayed, albeit very reluctantly, how that injury came to be. A pregnant pause had followed. Then Nicolai had laughed for days.

Jackson rolled his eyes at the memory.

Within hours of his release, the executive counsel had called him for a debriefing. But he was more than ready to rock and roll. All with one determination and burning goal to keep him moving forward.

And now, here he was, reading a profile on his next mission. Jackson smiled menacingly to himself. He absentmindedly brought his fingers up to scratch at the scar on the base of his throat. A demented chuckle escaped him. He wasn't about to give her an ultimatum like the panel had given him. Oh, no. She was going to do _everything he wanted _and there was absolutely _nothing _she would be able do about it.

Glancing at the clock, Jackson finished packing the necessities for his mission and put the files into the suitcase. Tomorrow was going to be the start of a VERY wild ride. Turning off the lights, Jackson allowed the evil smile to linger on his lips as he drifted into even darker dreams.

_Get ready, Leese - Daddy's coming home…_

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A/N: SO, what'd you guys think of that? I've read quite a few Red Eye fanfics here and a lot of them start off with Lisa's POV and timeline, so I wanted to deviate a bit and start off with our beloved villain. But that's only one of the many, many twists I've planned to put in here. Being that it's my first story, I'm entirely open to criticism. So if there's something I need to fix, let me have it! Haha. Thanks for reading! Until next time. :)


	2. Chapter One: Fire

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Red Eye…yet.**

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A/N: Thank you for the positive feedback and reviews! It was great to hear encouragement, and it's even greater to hear what you guys liked that made the story good. I get to know what I can keep on doing and what I can improve on. I never expected to have such an incredible feedback. Thank you!

I also changed the last chapter's title as the _Prologue_. It was far too short to be a chapter, and the more I read and analyzed it, its purpose seemed to be more of an insight to the story rather than a full blown showdown. But alas, I will stop talking now. The fun will finally begin. Enjoy! :))

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**CHAPTER One: Fire**

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_It was cold._

_Too cold to be under the comfort of her covers. Try as she might, she could not open her eyes. The dark abyss that held her only moments before was losing its grip on her mind as consciousness tried to seep its way to her brain. But the awful grogginess was still there, and it was incredibly hard to fight the blurriness. Her mind waged war on itself as it contemplated pursuing that consciousness, or staying with the abyss. The limbo between the waking hours and being dead to the world was always the hardest. In the end, it was the desire to return to the world of the living that won over. She tried harder to open her eyes. Damn mornings._

_But…it didn't work. Hm. Odd._

_She tried lifting a hand to rub at her sleep-laden eyes. Maybe that would push the grogginess further away. But nothing moved. It was then that she realized she COULDN'T move. _Anything._ A small spark of panic flashed. She tried instead to feel her surroundings. But for the life of her, she couldn't feel _shit._ The spark of panic flashed again, stronger this time. She couldn't move or feel anything…even if her life had depended on it. And at the moment, it probably did. Shrill, blood-churning fear jolted through her veins._

_The spark of panic turned into a small flame._

_She fought harder. Pushing through the dark with all her might, she willed herself to wake up. Somewhere in the confusion, she felt a part of her was conscious, but her brain couldn't decide if that was a reality. Desperation perched itself in her heart. She had no idea what was going on, but the dread was chasing her mind, intent on gobbling the last shreds of hope in her soul._

_The flame grew to the size of a campfire._

_No…she couldn't let the dark take her. She tried to open her eyes again. This time, although her world was still only the darkness, the edges were clearing into distant blurs. But it brought pain. Pain? What the hell…? _

_At first, the pain had been a faint brush against her soul. It grew to a dulling ache. And then, it had begun spreading like a plague, starting from her chest and bleeding through her nervous ends. It was like liquid electricity that washed from the middle of her body to ooze out her fingertips and toes. The pain was unbearable. _

_The campfire had turned into an inferno. _

_She felt like screaming. Scratch that, she _needed _to scream. But no sound came out. No motion came from her chest or her throat. All she felt were the knives slicing through her veins like magma, rising in intensity as consciousness began to win the war. It almost wasn't worth waking up. Almost._

_A high-pitched sound rang in her ears. If she could only move her hands to the targeted appendages, she would have. But she could only suffer in silence. The ringing dulled down in moments and after what seemed like an eternity, she could hear faint voices murmuring in the distance. The dark gave way to shadows as light began to seep through. Rapid beeping noises resonated from multiple areas, getting stronger with each passing second. She held on to it. The voices became louder…clearer._

" _- vitals are rising to normal - "_

"_Somebody get that stabilizer NOW!"_

"_Doctor ordered a 500cc sedative stat - "_

" _- I need help over here! We need to latch the body to restraints! He's fighting too much!"_

_Everyone around was panicking. Why? She desperately needed to open her eyes. With the darkness retreating, the pain still lacing, and the panicked commotion rising around her, she gave it one last shot._

_It was painful, but there was finally movement. Her fingers twitched as she willed it to come back to life. Her eyelids opened further until the shadows became bright light. Too bright. But she kept them open despite the pain, too afraid to go back into that abyss. Her lungs burned as feeling came back to her. She wanted to expand them further to breathe deeply, but the pain in her chest constricted the action. Tears rimmed her eyes at the sensation. The light died down until it created halos around objects, further more until it became normal blurs, and finally, until the blurs became distinctive. She could finally see!_

_People. Several of them bustling around her. But there were a few in particular hovering over her face. Way too close for comfort. _

_Before she could stop herself, her fist connected with the person directly over her head. _What?_ Swinging her weight to her left, she shoved the next person away from her. Why? Her body was acting on its own accord. Yet deep down inside, she felt the almost unstoppable rush and decisive skill to get out of there. It was years of training that kicked her system into overdrive again to - wait, what? Years of training…?_

_But she had no time to contemplate that as her elbow connected to another person's temple. What the fuck was going on? _

_Within the commotion, the pain intensified, but was pushed back into the recesses of her mind. Several more people dressed in the same outfit rushed into the room, along with guards carrying leather restraints. Panic ensued. There were a few more casualties. She couldn't stop it. It was like being possessed and just hopelessly watching the events unfold from within her mind. Suddenly, several heads turned as a man strode calmly into the room. His graying hair did nothing to dampen the fierceness in his hazel eyes. He exuded confidence and predatory prowess. As he reached the bed she was partially restrained to, he pulled out a loaded needle and calmly stabbed her with it in the neck. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, yet in reality, the event lasted only a few seconds. All motioned stopped._

"_Stop. That's enough now," he spoke, reassurance laced in his concerned tone. Up close, she could see the worry etched in his hard, rugged features. "It's okay…you're home now, Jackson…"_

Lisa woke with a start.

Cold sweat dripped like rain down her forehead and her back, tiny rivulets cascading over her smooth alabaster skin. Her face was burning. Unconsciously, she brought her hand up to her neck, still able to feel the throbbing of the needle from her dream.

_Damn it…!_

Lisa huffed angrily and pulled the covers off. Standing in irritation, she swiped the back of her hand across her burning forehead in a vain attempt to wipe off the sweat. Stretching a bit, she pointedly glanced at the clock next to her bed. The blue numbers read that it was only 5 in the morning, but she was more than ready to start her day. She huffed as she turned on her heels and pivoted to her closet, taking off her pajama shorts and tank top. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep – she could never fall back to a peaceful sleep after having that dream. It was the same dream almost every night. For the past five months, these terrors have been plaguing her subconscious. And for the past five months, it was a constant reminder of the biggest anomaly of her life:

Jackson Rippner.

Slipping into more athletic clothing, Lisa began stretching her limbs in warm-up exercises. It had first started off as a calming yoga routine to balance her racing mind after the Red Eye incident. Over the course of the last several months however, her morning salutations transformed into intense workouts. Every morning, she kicked it off with stretches and breathing methods, before she ran several miles, only to come back home and beat at the newly hung punching bag.

But the new routine hadn't come about because she was paranoid. Not entirely anyway.

She heard it all – all the stories and theories of the outcomes that her friends, family, and doctors would come up with. Some would say it was a wonder that she wasn't racked hopelessly with fear, checking every dark corner of her house at all hours of the day and night, and wasting away her life succumbing to the trauma. Others would say she might be pushing all the dark memories to the back of her head, only pretending that normalcy had the upper hand, but that the darkness still lurked underneath. And there were a smaller, more malicious few that say she was merely looking for attention. But, no. It wasn't like that. Weren't they happy at how far she had come? Were they _trying_ to jinx her? They just didn't get it. She wasn't like that **at all**_._ In fact, as incredulous as it may have sounded, she was at the best form she's ever been in her life.

Lisa sighed heavily as she peeled off her sweat-drenched clothes. Rubbing the knots out of her right shoulder, she headed toward the bathroom and tossed the used outfit into a nearby hamper. Sunrays danced through the bathroom windows as the sun made its slow ascent. It was a hazy morning, giving off a bright and happy ambience. She couldn't help the memory that suddenly flashed through her mind – the last time she had seen sunlight dance like this was through an airplane window while she sat next to a certain blue-eyed devil. Lisa hissed at the memory, turning the knobs in her bathtub with a little more force than needed. She winced slightly when freezing water escaped from the showerhead, leaning her body away from the somewhat offensive stream as she waited for the cold to turn into delicious heat. When the temperature got comfortable, she submerged herself into the pureness, scrubbing and rinsing away the sweat and grime she had worked up from her morning exercises. Showers were the best for deep thinking. Tilting her head back, she gave in to the thoughts bombarding her brain. After high school and college, her job had honed her into the epitome of customer service. Looking back on it now, she hadn't realized that all those years working at something she didn't really enjoy had been slowly eating and chipping away the person she used to be; the person who enjoyed life and the adventures and the dreams it promised. She was an athlete and adventurous at heart. Her job at the hotel didn't have that adventure, but it offered security. And maybe she got too comfortable with that security. Then after - _the incident -,_ as she preferred to call it, two years ago in the parking lot…it destroyed the tattered remains of what used to be the real Lisa. The affinity for the security became a desperate, dependent hold of the thought of a "normal" life…the security that routine offered. She was destitute. She became a different person. She became the theory her family and doctors talked shamelessly about. She was empty.

It hurt to know that she was only going through the motions for such a long time. But after the flight of the Red Eye…something in her had awakened. The slumbering fire in her soul had sparked to life again. It was small. It was just a flash. But it was something. She hated to admit it. Hated it so much, that she could still feel bile rise to her throat every time she thought about it. Still, she worked harder in the last few months to bring that fire back. She wanted a new Lisa – a Lisa that was built with the sturdy frame of her past real self, but with a renewed heart and spirit that would make her better than she's ever been. It was just so sad to think that she needed a near-death experience with a professional assassin to get her act back together.

Lisa scoffed as she shut the shower off. That was the past. Today, she worked for her present and her future. She conquered self-destruction, sexual violation, death-threats, terrorist-threats, knife fights, guns, and crazed assassins. She didn't just survive, she _CONQUERED_. The small pride at the thought was fuel to her new mission.

But sometimes, sometimes…she had some moments. It didn't bother Lisa too much – what great, meaningful mission was there in existence that didn't have its weak moments? But at times, she had to admit that these moments stole her very breath. Every flash of sky blue in the crowd still made her heart skip beats. The smooth baritone voice in her memories still haunted her mind. Occasional flashes of metal sent fear-strung shivers down her spine. And, some of the weirder moments, when she saw some cartoon pen that gave her a sudden impish feeling of triumph. And of course, no one could forget the immediate events following the Red Eye incident.

Her face had been all over the news. It was a little bit of a touch-and-go there for a while. The entire Keefe incident was almost, _ALMOST _pinned on her. It was a very scary time indeed. When she had gotten back home from the hotel with Cynthia, police officials still loitered her house. She had rushed to the hotel so fast, she didn't wait to see what they had done with Jackson's body. She expected an ambulance to be carrying the frightening image of a dead assassin in its bed. But when she arrived, the ambulance was empty, and the policemen had barely constrained accusing looks on their faces. When the anxiety finally broke her reverie, she had inquired Jackson's whereabouts. The police merely responded that there was no dead body. In fact, they found no body in her house at all. Time had stopped for a fraction of a second then. No dead hitman, and no dying assassin. NO ONE. Panic and fear took hold of her for several weeks.

As if the news of a missing Jackson weren't bad enough, the detectives turned on her instead. She was the first suspect on their lists for a period of time. She had made the phone call, she had the authorization, and _she_ had the connection with Keefe. There were no records of a Jackson Rippner anywhere. It took some time, but with the help of eyewitnesses on the flight, the blood on her father's foyer that didn't match anyone's records, the lack of evidence and motive on Lisa's behalf, and **especially** the undying gratitude and support of Keefe, the detectives were forced to drop the case. They were still suspicious, posting a nationwide alert in their books to investigate Lisa's connections with intra- and international crime organizations. And then, as though someone had flipped the switch, everything just stopped. She was off the hook and instantly became a small city hero.

The fear, panic, hurt, and feeling of betrayal had turned into anger and irritation, and then into apathy. She already had to deal with the trauma Jackson left behind, then, the government she tried to save turned around and nearly burned her, and now the media was giving her attention she didn't want.

But she forgave and forgot, her new attitude on life quickly prompting her to leave the past where it belonged – in the past. The Red Eye incident was over and the government had seemingly settled their qualms with her. As for the Jackson situation…well, at first, she did have her doubts, anxious and afraid that he'd come after her. But as time passed, so did the fear. All that was left was the newfound spirit that was brought on by the rush and thrill of the Red Eye.

Her life began to turn up as well the more she acted on that outgoing attitude. Although she didn't see herself so much as a people-pleaser like she used to be for the past few years, the smile wasn't completely fake either. Guys seemed to be more attracted to, not just her physique, but by her charisma now as well. Although she hardly took notice of them, she was well on her way to working on it. Her friend tree started growing, and her relationship with her father became healthier rather than dependant. Even though all these steps were small, they were indeed steps forward.

The hotel had been closed for a while, too many patrons afraid of another terrorist hit. But like Lisa, after time had worked on the wound of room 4080, the fear began to pass for them as well. Keefe passed a suggestion through the legislative and executive branches through the Congress and Senate, one that directly affected hotels such as the Lux Atlantic, and the once-targeted hotel held a massive grand-reopening shadowed by no other. Then, one sunny afternoon, the board had offered her a promotion from manager to director in the hotel. Of course a part of her was excited, but she had asked for time to think on it. She wasn't quite sure if this was where she wanted her life to be skating on at the moment.

In all honesty, she didn't know _where _she wanted her life to be going from this point. What did she want to do? Where did she want to go? What dreams and adventures did she really want to pursue that gave her such a positive outlook on life? Was all this optimism for nothing? Damn. That'd be a waste.

Lisa shook her head vehemently, opening her curtains to let the bright sunshine in and cast the dark doubts in her mind out. No. Luck and fortune was finally trying to set her back into the right direction. She wasn't about to mess it up and turn away just because she had doubts. No. There was something out there waiting for her - - -

Out of nowhere, a cold, painful chill ran down her back, racking her bones convulsively. Ice seemed to crack in the hollows of her spine. Lisa had to fight the instinctive urge to shriek. The violent shudder was so sudden, it nearly made her knees buckle. She had to hold on to the edge of a nearby table as her lungs spasmed in her ribs. What the hell was _that?_

Her green eyes darted dangerously fast around the room, threatening to give her a severe headache. The hairs on her arm stood on end as panic seeped into her composure. Something was wrong. Lisa straightened. Glancing around for a heavy object, she picked up a decorative piece made of Hawaiian volcanic stone and held it up defensively. She slowly made her way through her house, molding her body against the walls before turning every corner.

It was bright outside, but for some odd reason, Lisa just realized how dead quiet the neighborhood had become. Was it like this all morning while she was wrapped in her thoughts? Could be…right?

The half-open storage beneath her staircase caught her eye, and she silently walked over to it. She had brought her field hockey stick back with her, keeping it more as a memento than anything else. But right now, it seemed that it might come in handy. She quietly set the volcanic rock down onto another table and tightly held on to the hockey stick with both hands, steadying her breath as she desperately tried to keep the panic at bay.

She went through every room. _Nothing._ After another thorough run-through of her house, Lisa realized there was nothing amiss. Nothing was out of place, nothing was suspicious. Everything was just…normal. She sighed heavily for the umpteenth time that morning.

In a shuddering breath, Lisa let her body release the tension. Dropping her arms, she let the hockey stick dangle loosely in her hand, before walking back downstairs to put it back in its storage. That was such an odd event. Where the hell had that shiver really come from? Lisa was still wary of her surroundings, but really. There was nothing out of order that screamed at her. She quietly laughed at herself, feeling incredibly stupid and ashamed for her quick lapse of sanity.

Glancing at the clock in the living room, her green eyes flashed in slight panic as she realized she was going to be late for work if she didn't leave soon. Rushing back upstairs, Lisa pushed the latest event to the back of her mind. Everything was just a figment of her imagination. The reality right now was that she was going to be late for work. Again.

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Jackson looked on with mild amusement. Due to a mightily _**coincidental**_ foreclosure of the house across the street, he was able to sit cross-legged on a leather love seat set by the bay window on the second floor, casually swirling his glass of brandy as he watched a certain green-eyed woman go on her morning routine.

He hadn't been able to sleep at all. A couple hours of lying listlessly in his suite at the company headquarters, and he decided he had enough of it. Calling up a few connections, he slipped silently into Lisa's neighborhood, setting up shop in a house just across of her home. He nearly fell into a light slumber when he detected movement in the other house. Jackson had snapped to attention. Lisa's silhouette had moved by the window, outlined with the faint moonlight. He tensed in his seat. For all the millions of plots he had ran over and over in his head, at that moment, he could not conjure up any of them. NOT. A. SINGLE. ONE.

He could feel his pulse quicken as his black heart spurred. Palms perspired the slightest bit as his breathing shallowed. Jackson curled his lips in disgust at himself. How low. How amateur. How very LISA. Well, the old, boring, pre-Red Eye flight Lisa. He felt a strange sense of déjà vu from his rookie days flood through his system. It sickened him. Shaking his head as though the physical action could rid the mental thoughts, he took an annoyed breath before he turned his eyes back over to the structure that housed his bane. If glares could only start fires...

Having just arrived that night, there was no time for him to activate his idle surveillance planted there from the first eight weeks he watched her. An ego-wounding thought crossed his mind when he realized that she didn't even try to move out of her old home, knowing that she had once been tracked like a wild animal in that house. He scoffed and kicked at a nearby figurine, knocking the furnishing down for good measure. He watched as her silhouette move past her bedroom a few more times. What in the world was that woman doing at five in the morning? Jackson was sorely tempted to investigate in person.

As the grandfather clock ticked ominously somewhere within the house, Jackson called on years of hard experience and control and let his body relax, reminding himself that good things came to those who waited. If he were to rush in right now, there was a huge chance he'd blow things from the start. Pfft. And like a dumbass, he could kiss his sweet revenge goodbye. No. He'd wait. As much as his hands itched to wrap themselves around that ivory neck, he'd wait.

His attention was piqued when he spotted Lisa stepping out the house in athletic wear. His renewed vow on patience nearly slipped his mind as he watched her stretch languidly on her porch. A delicate eyebrow shot up in reaction before smoothing back down to feigned disinterest. But try as he might, he couldn't stop the small stumble in his breathing when Lisa leaned a little too far over, legs spread…ass in the air…

Jackson stopped himself; disgusted again by the direction his thoughts began to tread through. He remained impassive as Lisa finished her little slut show, damn her. _As if there was anyone to show off to at five-thirty in the morning. _She plugged her headphones into her ears, securing her iPod sleeve around her arm before taking off on a jog. He supposed he could sneak into her house and wait for her there…or at least reactivate the surveillance.

Reaching over to the side table where a stack of folders lay, he contemplated on his next plan of action. He's already read everything there; there was nothing more it could give him. The update on Lisa's life since the Red Eye incident was simple and business sufficient. But all the little between-the-lines irritated the fuck out of him. No matter how he tried to read her updated profile, no matter what perspective he tried to see it through…it seemed as though the Reisert bitch found a way to move beyond him. As though he was as insignificant as the next stranger she wouldn't even give the time of day to.

Jackson sighed aloud. All his intricate plans somewhat destroyed by this discovery of a new…Lisa. The suppressed anger flared again in his chest. Who the fuck is this bitch? Who the hell did she think she was, flinging him to the side? Seemingly going on without him? Deceptively unaffected? While he was working his ass off in rehab to be on top his game for the sweetest vengeance in history, here she was…moving on as though he didn't even make a _dent_. What…did a guy have to rape a bitch to be remembered around here?

A sick chuckle escaped him. Where did that thought come from…? No. He wasn't about to degrade himself for a bitch that wasn't even worth his time. But if she wasn't worth the time…why was he here? The thought came unbidden. Vengeance, right? Pride? Was did it mean if she was worth even those malicious things? Jackson furrowed his eyebrows unconsciously, not liking his little reminiscent moment. Like flipping a switch, all thought process stopped and he became the stoic monster he trained himself to be. Devoid of all emotion. Just male-based and fact-driven.

Just wait for the bitch to come home. Then we can start the game.

Light began to filter through the house. The windows were wonderfully reflective-tinting, much like the glass panels in an interrogation room: a one-way view through the window. Perfect.

As if on cue, Lisa came back to the house, skin layered with a sheen of sweat. Jackson smirked at how sexy it looked on her, remembering the last time they had fought head-on. She stepped into her home and locked the door. Jackson watched as she began stripping her soiled clothes, catching a glimpse of a creamy curve of breast before she disappeared into her bathroom

It was a while before he could detect movement again. When he saw her again, she had pulled open the curtains, freshly showered and dressed smartly for work. In the strengthening morning light, he was able to assess details better, appreciating the scene unfolding. Her hair had grown longer, maybe another four or five inches, and she had straightened her soft locks. It looked really good on her. It gave her a touch of youth…youth she had probably lost over the past couple of years. The sunlight played with the contours of her face and figure, adding just a brush of color over her cheeks and giving her alabaster skin a touch of gold. Her body looked different too. Her curves slanted in steeper dips, her body more toned than he remembered. Hot damn, had she gotten sexy. Well, sexi_er_. She was such a vision.

Jackson licked his bottom lip, unconsciously pulling slightly at his collar. His eyes never left her beautiful form. For a moment, Jackson felt the fire in his chest roar outwards – reaching, traveling, _needing_ to connect with hers - - -

Like a flash of lightning, Lisa's eyes darted out her window and connected with his. Jackson tensed instantly. He knew it was stupid; there was no way she could see him, even if she were standing mere inches from the glass that covered him. But still, he couldn't help the warning voice that screamed at him to move. Pride winning over, he willed himself to stay put. In the end, he was right. Her eyes had only connected with his for a few breaths before they darted in every other direction, searching for whatever it was that had startled her. Jackson released a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

Taking a big gulp of his now-warm brandy, he watched as Lisa picked up a stone item and stalked through her own home. His muscles relaxed again after a while, finding her paranoia comical. He almost laughed at how ridiculous he thought she looked. Then again, she wasn't really ridiculous, was she? After all, there really was someone watching her.

But her reaction gave him a sense of thrill nonetheless. So…deep down inside, brave little Lisa Reisert IS still affected by him. A wicked smile graced his lips. An almost maniacal-sounding laugh escaped him. For all her bravado, all her "I'm no damsel" act…the little heroine still had a soft fear-spot for Jackson Rippner. How cute.

He continued sitting back leisurely, watching as the phase passed her and she gathered her wits again. She rushed up the stairs, then raced back down after a minute, gathering her purse and work suit. Soon, she was out the door, in her new white Mitsubishi Lancer, then down the street and out of sight, racing to work.

Jackson chugged the last bits of the brandy down. Smiling evilly to himself, he stood up and pulled his shirt off. Shower first, infiltrate Lisa's home after.

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_Firstly, when asked about a possible RED EYE sequel, he mentioned:_

"_I think it is completely possible if you extended those characters because they had such incredible chemistry. Whether those two actors would want to come back again or would be affordable, I don't know. But I thought it would be fascinating to have something like Rippner needing her help for some reason. So they get thrown into bed together, so to speak. In a way that they'd be the oddball duo, they hate each other and eventually become a tight-spun team. I think Carl was sketching out stuff. I know the studio was interested. Rachel would be trickiest for them to get because she has a manager who's extremely cautious about her career. They'd have to have a really terrific script and I'd jump at that job in a minute._

_- Wes Craven, _Omar Aviles Red Eye Interview 2006

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A/N: Hey there, gents and ladies! So, I know it's a bit slow, but we must build meaning before we can build legends, right? Teehee. So, now that we've gotten the introductions out of the way, we can begin delving into the real meat and action of the story. I'm quite excited for the next few chapters to unroll, and I'm even more excited to see your reactions to it. I decided I wanted a stronger, more defined Lisa than I've read in a lot of fanfics; a Lisa who's life is not so tragically altered by the Red Eye event. I hope that's not too much of a disappointment for you all.

That being said, I just want to say thank you, again, to those that have reviewed the Prologue. Like I mentioned earlier, I never expected such detailed encouragement and appraisal.

Until next time!

- Teddy


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